Tales of No Particular Interest
by BrownDove
Summary: What, no Constantinos fanfics? You people disgust me.


_'Twas the end of summer, and all should be well__  
__But liberty sucks, and freedom is hell__  
__How I long for the rings of that big-ass bell__  
__Screw this poem.__  
__Screw summer._

I know I'm not a poet; should be evident by how much that sucked. If you actually think that was good and worthy of any sort of praise, you're a brown-nosed asshole and I hate you and you should die.

But since there's no way anyone could've possibly enjoyed that poem, hi, I'm Constantinos Brakus. I don't normally act like this; I'm usually not so warm and bubbly. I also don't use so many semicolons.

I go to this school called Bullworth, in a town called Bullworth. They both suck. Why I'm here is still a mystery, but as always, my mom is at the center of it. She said she wanted me to build "character" or "self-esteem" or one of those other words you see on motivational posters. I'm sure there was another reason behind it, but I'm too lazy to find out.

I'm actually surprised that she scraped up enough money to send me to this dump for another year. She invested all our money in some dot-com company that went bankrupt last winter, and now she's always cursing the evils of technology. While talking on her cell phone. Cue Alanis Morissette.

But anyway, none of that stuff matters. I'm here, I'm queer, and so is everyone else. Seriously, they are. Yesterday, this kid Kirby from the football team came up to me and asked me if I wanted to hang out.

I was like, "Um, I'm pretty sure I hate you. And you hate me."

"No, it's not like that, really, I swear," he says. "I pretend to hate you so the rest of the team doesn't know the truth. The truth is, every time I see you in that mascot uniform..."

He takes another step toward me; the distance between us slowly shortens. His eyes are locked with mine, his lips are moist and inviting. I can no longer hear the words he says; all that exists is that wonderfully expressive face, those damn penetrating eyes.

He wants me to come closer...

So I kick him in the nuts. Serves him right, the freakin' homo. Though I could've sworn I saw him making out with Christy once. I guess he's bi. Figures.

"Looks like you can't have it both ways, sucker," I said. Well, actually, I didn't say it, but I would've if I had thought of it back then. I don't get to beat up kids very often, so I try to cherish the moment by acting as cool and tough as possible. Unfortunately, all I came up with was:

"Yeah. Yeah, you suck. Balls."

Then I saw the rest of the football team charging toward me from the 40 yard line, and I almost wish I died right there, because those are some pretty sweet last words. But I managed to find refuge in the jocks' clubhouse, which they were amazingly too stupid to open. (Apparently Juri had lost the key again. Silly Russians.)

So that's where I am today. In the jock clubhouse. I still haven't come out, partly because I fear the wrath of angry muscleheads, but also because it's so cool in here. It's nice to have a place all to myself, even a place that's littered with used jock straps. I'm used to the cramped boys' dorm, with its broken water fountains and crappy arcade game.

Even worse is sharing a bedroom with this fat nerd Algie. He doesn't snore or anything, but he's always trying to talk to me. Even someone as socially isolated as me isn't going to be too excited at the prospect of having this guy come up and try to start a conversation.

When we do have a conversation, here's how it usually goes:

"Hey, Constantinos, what's crackin'?"

Punch to the stomach.

"I guess... you don't want to talk right now... that's cool, yo..."

One time he made the mistake of trying to start a discussion on our common Greek heritage. I had to give him a punch in the face for that. I don't think I'm a bad person, I just figure since I'm probably going to hell anyway, I might as well have some fun while I still have my free will.

Anyway, the first day of school starts tomorrow, and it depresses me even more to realize that this whole Kirby ordeal was probably the most exciting thing that happened to me this summer.

I just hate it when people go around asking each other, "What did you do over the summer?", as if they actually care about what goes on in someone else's pathetic life. Not like anyone ever asks _me_ that, but if they did, I'd have to punch them in the stomach, because that person would probably turn out to be Algie.

The jocks have probably forgotten about me by now. They're usually not smart enough to come up with plans for revenge (really, they're _never_ smart enough for something like that). But I think I'm gonna spend my last day of summer in here.

I switch the radio from a stupid Barenaked Ladies song to a station that hopefully doesn't suck. Surprisingly, it doesn't.

Listening to the singer's desire to not become a casualty of society, I kick back in bed. Deep down, I know I should hate this music. It's pop punk, stuff that pseudo-angsty teenagers listen to right before getting dropped off at the mall. It goes against everything the Sex Pistols and the Clash stood for.

And yet, it's amazingly captivating.

Maybe my mom should have had an abortion too...


End file.
